


Prowl

by Vagrant_Blvrd



Series: Touch Not the Cat [5]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werecreatures, Alternate Universe- GTA V, Fake AH Crew, Multi, Werecats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:46:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25767652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/pseuds/Vagrant_Blvrd
Summary: Every so often circumstances will conspire to bring them back to Los Santos without them taking a direct hand in matters.
Relationships: Gavin Free/Ryan Haywood/Meg Turney
Series: Touch Not the Cat [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1017669
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	Prowl

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for Anon who asked for something in the werecat AUs with Turnfreewood. :D?

Every so often circumstances will conspire to bring them back to Los Santos without them taking a direct hand in matters.

Meg claims it’s kismet, fate, crooked grin on her face and something a touch more wistful in her eyes, and Gavin - 

Well.

He doesn’t know what he’d call it, other than convenient.

The nature of their work means they’re always on the move, in motion. The chance to rest for a bit, remember what solid ground under their feet feels like it always welcome.

It’d just be nice to have that happen without outside forces factoring in.

This time it’s a warning for friends, bit of information they stumbled on that needs to be passed on, given to the right people.

Suspicious if Meg got involved, was seen by the wrong people, but Gavin?

That’s another story.

========

It’s the full moon, something that makes things like this easier on Gavin, being what he is. Pull in the back of his mind to give in to his heritage, bloodline going back generations with muddied origins.

A curse or a blessing, depending on how one looks at it. Or maybe something else, and however it came to be there’s no denying it’s been a boon in Gavin’s line of work.

Reason for teasing, jokes, from those in the know and an edge over rivals and enemies few can hope to match.

Downsides too, unfortunate incidents, but some of those have led to unexpected opportunities. New allies, friends. 

A veterinary clinic in La Mesa, run by a lovely woman who may or may not be involved with what some might refer to as unsavory characters and a chance run-in years ago that has benefited both greatly.

When he goes looking for her now, she’s where he’d expect to find her.

Taking a moment out of a busy day to look after the strays and outcasts who know to come to her for help.

Friendly smile and bright laughter and a knack for knowing where it itches when Gavin rubs up against her shins, sorrowful cries falling from his lips and all as she crouches down to give him attention.

Just another cat in an alley teeming with them, strays and neighborhood pets allowed to roam free as they will and nothing at all suspicious to be seen.

“Oh, you poor thing,” she coos, laugh lines that deepen as he agrees with her assessment with a wobbly trill. “You’re all skin and bones.”

Genetics, and a bit of embellishment on her part, but he still lets her scoop him up and carry him inside, back door to her clinic shutting firmly behind her.

Clever hands and nails just the right length to make it satisfying as she combs her fingers through his fur as she makes her way from the back of the clinic through narrow hallways. Passes a few doors, exam rooms and storage closets. 

He catches a glimpse of a sour-faced man, scowling firmly in place along with the bloodied bit of shirt pressed to his shoulder.

Gavin makes a half-hearted attempt to wriggle free from the hold the veterinarian has on him, but there are years of dealing with fussy animals under her belt and he stays where he is.

“Don’t worry about him,” she says, raising her voice slightly, certain to be heard. “He’s just an idiot.”

Gavin settles back down in her hold with a snort, purr drawn out of him when she laughs as well.

A few moments later and they’re in her office. 

Sparsely decorated, just the essentials, it would seem.

A desk, surface scratched and chipped. Laptop several years old wheezing along. Mug full of pens and pencils and odds and ends. Another mug half-full of coffee that seems to have long gone cold. Bits of paper, folders, files.

Picture frame, a bit scuffed up like it’s been knocked over, knocked off the desk.

The veterinarian sets Gavin down on the desk, and places her hands on her hips as she looks down at him.

Corner of her mouth tugged down in a frown.

“Well?” 

Gavin blinks up at her, cocks his head as though he doesn’t understand her.

Meows, like perhaps she’s got the wrong cat? Mistaken identity and all, because surely he’s not the only cream tabby running about the city at this time of night, and yet - 

“ _Gavin_ ,” Lindsay says, stern but for the laughter in her eyes, her voice. 

Smart enough to know there’s a reason he’d come here like this, four legs rather than two. 

Still, Gavin lets it sit for a few moments more. Gets to his feet and sniffs curiously at the objects on her desk, dips his whiskers into her cold coffee before she reaches out to rap him on the top of his head in gentle rebuke.

Gavin shakes his head, lets out the most pitiful sound he’s capable of as he looks up at her.

“You’re a bastard,” Lindsay says, helpless smile and rueful twist to her mouth now, exhaustion she’d been masking peeking through. “I don’t suppose there’s a reason for this visit of yours, is there?”

Gavin pads over to her and meows again before he gives himself a little shake, collar around his neck jingling, drawing her attention to it.

There’s a pause as he sits back down and looks up at her expectantly.

A sigh, and then those clever fingers of hers are undoing the collar, taking a moment to scratch the fur underneath it, smooth over, as Lindsay examines the collar.

Nothing all that fancy, as collars go. 

Simple band of fabric with a buckle closure, but there’s a clever little compartment on the buckle’s underside. Just large enough for a memory card, and few enough people who’d think to suspect a little cream tabby wandering about.

“For me?” Lindsay asks, prying the compartment open with a nail to let the memory card fall into her hand. “You shouldn’t have.”

Already distracted, she takes out her phone to make a few calls, arrange for someone to come fetch the memory card to put it to good use.

Job here done, Gavin hops off her desk to see to other matters while he’s there.

========

“The fuck are you looking at?”

If looks could kill, Gavin would be dead a dozen times over by the time he makes his way over and up to the exam table currently occupied by a belligerent bastard.

Injured, so that might have something to do with things, but there’s that same smell of exhaustion to him Lindsay had. 

Not unexpected with his line of work, the kind of trouble he gets himself into day after day, night after night.

Someone’s been by to tend to his injury, and he’s hooked up to an IV, head resting against the wall at his back as he waits for it to finish.

Gavin tips his head to the side and meows, soft, curious, and the scowl aimed at him softens slightly.

“Fuck off,” he gets in response, something that wants to stay belligerent, angry, but can’t be bothered to if the faint smile that creeps onto his face is any indication.

Gavin brushes it off the way he does so much with this particular man, more bite than bark and although he claims to have a bone-deep dislike for cats, he doesn’t shove Gavin off when he climbs into his lap.

“Stupid fucker,” Michael grumbles, hands rough from from a lifetime of hard work settling on Gavin’s back. 

He lacks the experience the veterinarian has when it comes to finding the trouble spots, but he’s careful with those hands of his as he seeks them out. Muttering to himself as Gavin goes boneless in his hands, purring filling the air and bit of comfort freely offered to someone who wouldn’t think to just ask for it like the idiot he is.

========

It’s late when Gavin makes it back to the apartment.

Modest affair in the sort of area where people are far too invested in their own business to bother looking into anyone else’s. 

Perfect for their needs, given their line of work and the company they keep here in Los Santos.

Meg’s just wrapping up, making sure there won’t be any trouble with the two of them being in Los Santos for a bit, long enough to see this latest spot of trouble through to the end. 

Good business sense, coming to the aide of their allies, but more than that it’s gotten a bit personal, touching the lives of people they care about, and that can’t be allowed to stand.

Meg gives him a smile and a scritch under his chin as he stops to greet her on his way to make his hellos to - 

“Thought I’d make a late dinner.”

Handsome bastard with a soft smile as he spots Gavin, something that gives way to a put-upon sigh as Gavin brushes up against his legs.

“You do that on purpose, don’t you.”

Cats shed, and with fur as light as Gavin’s the evidence is clear against the dark fabric of his pant-legs.

Gavin trills, and makes another circuit around Ryan before he trots over to one of the stools at the kitchen counter. Jumps up and over to get a better view of what he’s on about.

The whole apartment smells divine, Ryan a far better chef than he gives himself credit for being.

“It’s nothing fancy,” he says, almost embarrassed, as though there’s anything to be embarrassed about. “I didn’t know you two would be in town so soon, and things have been...hectic lately. No time to worry about groceries.”

Across the room Meg looks up from her laptop to give Gavin a look. 

Amused. 

Fond. 

_Exasperated._

Because Ryan and his excuses that aren’t necessary, and just Ryan himself, the stupid bastard.

Gavin knows Ryan hates it when he walks all over his – their – nice counters, but in Gavin’s defense Ryan asked for it, didn’t he?

Quick little hop up and Gavin’s waltzing right on over to where Ryan’s watching him in disbelief and resignation, tiniest bit of amusement tucked way back deep in there too.

Usually is, when he’s dealing with Gavin when he’s feeling like being a bit of a bastard.

“Gavin - “

Ryan professes to being more of a dog person, likes cats just fine and all with this little glint in his eyes, laughter held back and still obvious enough, but, yeah, dogs are definitely better.

Still.

Here he is, looking down at Gavin as Gavin looks up at him.

Goes all soft about it, tired little smile and something sweet to it as he watches that cream tabby getting his grubby little paws all over the nice, clean counters. Deliberately shedding on his clothes. Making an utter nuisance of himself every chance he gets for the fun of it, and - 

“Oh, you little sneak!”

Too slow to catch Gavin when he darts past him, makes a beeline for the bacon cooling on a plate and evades his reach to seek safety with Meg.

Secures her protection by splitting the loot with her, and Meg’s laughter and sharp little smirk as Ryan pulls up short of them.

Poor little Vagabond up against the likes of them.

Outnumbered and for now, outmaneuvered.

Looks between them for a moment as though he’s contemplating a countermove before he sighs again. Lighter this time.

“She won’t be around to protect you forever,” Ryan says, warning and a promise in one that Gavin finds himself looking forward to.

“Boys,” Meg chides, causing Ryan to huff and Gavin to chirp at her around the bit of bacon he still has in his mouth, both tactics ineffectual in the end. 

Still.

Ryan gets reeled in for a kiss from Meg, press of her lips at the corner of his mouth and another scritch under his chin for Gavin, so it’s not all bad.

========

“Geoff’s going to want to meet with you about the information you brought,” Ryan says around a yawn, the exhaustion that seems to have overtaken him and the others involved with the Fakes Gavin’s run into sunk deep in his bones. 

Important intel having to do with the Fake AH Crew’s biggest rivals looking to create ties with other crews, gangs unhappy with the state of things in Los Santos. Displeased at the Fakes with their lofty position at the top of the hierarchy here, hoping to knock the foundation out from under them.

Putting what they’d gathered together on a memory card Gavin had passed on to Lindsay was just the beginning. 

There’s planning to be done, lessons to be taught.

“Hmm, yes,” Meg agrees, halfway asleep herself. “Tomorrow?”

Ryan makes some kind of noise, tired and fighting a losing battle against sleep, and Gavin bats at his face, soft brush of his paw that gets a sleepy smile from him, low chuckle.

“Tomorrow,” he agrees, curling an arm around Meg as he gives in, and Meg follows suit.

Gavin watches them, something like contentment in his chest that comes out as purring as he lays his head down to rest, just for the moment.


End file.
